


in the tired hands of dusk

by sugarybowl



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Babysitting, Escort Service, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-04-26 03:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14393553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarybowl/pseuds/sugarybowl
Summary: The last thing Barry needs on top of all this drama is a hot dad.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A thousand thank yous to blue_wonderer and Crimson1 for the editing and the cheerleading! Here y'all are. An effort in fluff. Hope you enjoy!

Barry glances at his phone once again – not quite anxious but still nervous about a meeting like this. He’s in the kind of coffee shop where everyone’s outfits look similar enough to his but cost about ten times as much and the knowledge of it makes him fidget slightly. He should be used to it by now, in his line of work – it wasn’t as if the average person could afford him.  The woman who sits across him both stuns him and proves his theory – she’d easily picked him out of the bunch without breaking a stride.

“Barry?”

“Mrs. Snart,” he says, turning on his most charming grin.

“No, no,” she says, laughing like a glass bell, “just Lisa. Aren’t you just the sweetest thing.”

Shamelessly, she gives him a once over – twice – and nods in approval. Barry is used to that sort of thing even though it still tends to make him uncomfortable. Even if his services come highly recommended, people still put a lot of stock in the look of him when they consider hiring him. She pulls a hefty looking file out of her briefcase and glances over it, “You’re very impressive – putting yourself through school?”

“No,” Barry says, all too used to this question by now, “this is what I love to do and I do it well.”

“Confident,” she says with a little smirk, “I love it. I imagine the hours leave you with plenty of free time as well.”

“I take daytime clients most days,” Barry says, “like I said, I enjoy my work.”

“Well that’s good to hear,” she says, “now tell me Barry, what is it you love about it – though I guess the pay is pretty enticing.”

“Can’t say it’s bad, no,” Barry says, thinking through his answer – most people didn’t much care why Barry did what he did.

“I love being able to provide calm and comfort for what can be a frightening experience at first,” he says at last, “and then it’s just fun.”

Lisa Snart’s face changes from a mischievous amusement to something that looks more like genuine approval.

“Good answer,” she says shutting her folder closed, “now, this job’s a little different than what you’re used to but from what I’ve seen of your previous work you have all the components to be perfect for it. You worked all nights recently?”

“Yes,” Barry nods, “it’s a tough but really rewarding job – letting new parents catch up on some sleep.”

“That means you’d be comfortable with overnight hours and you’re all sorts of certified,” Lisa hums, “but Mike’s seven which isn’t the worst age.”

“It’s a lot of fun,” Barry agrees.

“He’s a fun kid and smart as whip, he gets that from his aunt,” she says, preening slightly. Barry shouldn’t have assumed of course, that Lisa was the mother in this situation.

“The real trouble,” she says before taking a sip of her coffee, “the real trouble is his dad. My brother works overnight – same hours as you. He also insists in being a full-time dad, because he’s amazing. But that means he works himself to the bone. He only sleeps while Mike is at school and takes no time for himself. So, I think that on some days, I’d like to have you on as a full-time au pair. Give my brother a bit of a break.”

The proposition took Barry by surprise, an au pair gig was hard to snatch in this city, especially what with him being a guy. Lots of wealthy progressive parents would take him on as a babysitter- and recently, surprisingly as a night nanny – but something as engaged and full time as an au pair wasn’t something Barry had been ready to be offered.

“I realize that would really monopolize a lot of your time and you probably won’t have time for those daytime babysitting gigs. But we can afford to make up for that, and I think you’re just perfect for my boys.”

Any other person would jump at the bit, say yes with no hesitation, but Barry really wasn’t I n this business for the good pay. He wasn’t any other person.

“If it’s alright with you and with Mike’s dad, I’d like to meet them first – before I make any decisions.”

“Good answer,” Lisa says once again, making Barry feel like most things with her are a test, “I’m sure they’d prefer that as well. Why don’t you come over this evening for a test run? See, I’m usually the backup – I take care of Mike at night and look after my brother when he won’t look after himself. The reason we need you is I’m going to be out of town a few months. So how about a little on-site training tonight?”

“That sounds perfect,” Barry says, hardly believing his luck, “where should I meet you?”

 

 Of course, as Barry had expected, it was all too good to be true. He finds himself in the lobby of a breathtaking apartment building, getting judged and found wanting by a doorman who let him in after a short and quiet conversation.

“Seventeenth floor,” the man says curtly, “apartment 7G.”

Barry adjusts his shirt and hair anxiously as the elevator climbs, building the strange sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. Something tells him it’s all sounding too perfect to be real. Once he reaches the right door he doesn’t even get to knock before it’s pulled open quietly to reveal a little boy with bright blue eyes and tight curls of dark hair with his finger pulled up to his lips in a sign of silence.

“You must be Barry,” the boy whispers. It only takes a moment to find out why.

“You have no right Lisa,” a loud voice says, projecting rage without actually screaming, “no right.”

“He’s my nephew,” Lisa’s voices answers in complete calm.

“And he’s my son,” the male voice snaps, “I don’t need any help, Mick can watch over him just fine while he sleeps.”

“It’s not just Mike who needs looking after!”

The boy standing in front of him rolls his eyes, “They’ve been fighting about you.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t ask you to come in,” the kid – Mike – says, “just – don’t leave when he tells you to leave yeah? He’s gonna say something mean and tell you to go away, but just wait around by the elevators yeah?”

Barry nods, dumbfounded by the kid’s calm.

“Oh, and ring the doorbell,” he says, pointing carefully at the little button beside them, “he hates it when people knock instead of ringing the doorbell. Unless it’s uncle Mick.”

Barry nods and takes a step back as the boy quietly closes the door. He waits a few seconds, both to decide if this is a good idea and to give the boy a chance to step away from the door. He rings the doorbell and just as the door swings open again and Barry waits for an angry tirade, he’s stunned into a stupor by the sight of the man in front of him. Lisa Snart is a beautiful woman, but her brother – oh God. The last thing Barry needs on top of all this drama is a hot dad.

“Oh, for God’s sake, look at you,” the gorgeous man sneers, the blue eyes that looked so sweet and kind on Mike looks terrifying on him, “you’re out past your bedtime yourself. Get out of here kid, your services aren’t required.”

Prepared for this and doing his best to look neither turned on nor scared, Barry nods once, turns on his heel and makes his way to the elevator, hand hovering over the call button wondering if it’d be quicker just to find a window to jump out of when he remembers what Mike said.

“Hey Scarlet,” the beautiful man’s voice calls after him just a half a minute later, “get back here a sec.”

Barry swallows and weighs his options. He really wasn’t ready to do another stint with infants that didn’t sleep more than two hours at a time, and day gigs didn’t pay nearly enough to get him rent. He could finally crack and join an agency but then he’d lose any say in the families he worked for. And what good was that say if he walked head first into a family that didn’t want or need him?

“I know you’re still there, Scarlet, my kid’s smooth but not that smooth,” the man calls out again. Taking a deep breath to steady his resolve, Barry peaks around the corner and down the hall where the man is standing looking like a damn model, arms crossed and eyes hard as Mike hugs his hip and Lisa stands triumphantly beside them.

“Scarlet, sir?”

The beautiful man tilts his chin up at him and Barry looks down at his button down – and yup, one could call that scarlet. But call him Scarlet?

“Come into my office, Scarlet,” he says as he ushers his family back into the apartment, “I have places to be tonight.”

Barry takes a seat in the sleek looking office. It is crisp and clean, unburdened by old books and decorations but obviously used regularly by the look of the files and new-looking hardcovers in a variety of topics. There were books on a modern art from the 60s to 80s and there were books on the recent wars across the world. Barry snaps out of his quick snooping when the man takes a seat across from him in a high-backed black chair.

“Now, what’s your actual name, Scarlet?”

“Barry,” he answers knowing full well he was currently flipping through the same dossier his sister had approved of earlier, “Barry Allen, sir.”

“I’m Leonard Snart, the little squirt that warned you of my temper earlier is Michael,” the beautiful man – Leonard – says as his eyes skim over the papers in front of him, “lots of good family names in here – Rathaways?”

“It was a brief employment,” Barry makes sure to clarify, “I would have loved to stay with them longer, their daughter is fantastic child – but I was hired by Jerrie’s older brother Hartley and when his parents returned from Europe they decided to hire someone else.”

“Mmm, not up to their standards?”

“They … preferred a female childcare professional. It’s not uncommon.”

“I imagine not,” he hums as he keeps reading, “so is it true about the Rathaway boy? Party animal – over all disaster?”

The judgement raises Barry’s hackles, “I only know him as a loving and protective brother, sir.”

Leonard’s eyes snap up to Barry’s and he knows immediately he must have pissed the man off, he couldn’t contain the scorn in his voice and now he is going to lose out on this job. But then, just as his sister had, he snaps the folder closed and smirks.

“Good answer,” he says simply, “you’re hired.”

“I…I am? I mean – thank you, sir.”

“Look at you, like a deer in headlights. Let’s say you’re still pending a final approval from Lisa tonight and, more importantly, from Mike. But I know a thing or two about Hartley Rathaway. For one,” he says as he stands, “he is fiercely protective of that girl – he would never hire anyone less than perfectly compassionate and prepared for the job, which means you passed his smell test for those.”

He walks over to the door but pauses before turning to look at Barry over his shoulder, “He’s also a complete disaster and a career party boy if I ever met one, which means you don’t talk shit about former employers. I appreciate that kind of class. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready for work.”

Barry takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself before he steps out of the office – as strange as this day has been it seems like he has a job, a really awesome job – and it’s time to do it. Lisa and Mike are on the living room couch looking over an iPad and Barry crouches down in front of them.

“Alright, looks like I need to get to know a little more about Mike. Allergies, medical conditions, anything I need to know to keep him safe and healthy,” he says as he looks at Lisa before turning to Mike, “and from you – some really important information.”

“What’s that?” Mike asks, eyes squinting in cartoonish suspicion.

“Your favorite dessert and your favorite movie,” Barry says very seriously. Mike giggles and turns to his aunt who ruffles his hair and nods at him.

“I like lava cakes!” Mike says with all the enthusiasm of a kid about to ask for some lava cakes right now, “and Die Hard!”

Barry can feel his eyebrows climbing upward, “Die Hard?”

Lisa snorts, “Lemme guess, Uncle Mick?”

“Uncle Mick!” Mike answers, laughing and making explosion noises and then laughing some more.

“Mick’s not the world’s best babysitter, but he’s fun back up,” Lisa explains, “now if you boys will excuse me for a minute.”

She makes her way down a hallway leaving Mike and Barry to themselves for a moment. As soon as a door in an unseen hallway shuts closed, Mike scoots forward towards Barry.

“Auntie Lisa feels bad that’s she going away to D.C.,” he starts, “and I told her, I tolddd her that we’d be fine. And then dad told her that we’d be fine. But she won’t listen. I don’t mind having a babysitter, but dad doesn’t like new people – I think it’s because he has to meet new people every day and remember their names and remember to be nice and that’s exhausting. I like to play this game where I catch him yawning, because he hates to yawn, so he always tries to yawn when no one is looking but I always catch him. One day he yawned thirty times!”

“That’s a whole lot of times,” Barry says, eyes wide and rushing to get a word in.

“It is! So anyway, I don’t mind that you’re my babysitter now, because you can help me count dad’s yawns while I’m asleep. Auntie Lisa gets all frowny and Uncle Mick just rolls his eyes when I ask them to count.”

“Alright how’s this,” Barry says, moving to sit on the floor instead of crouching, “after your dad’s off to work, you can tell me how many yawns you’ve got and I’ll jot that down in…what’s your favorite color?”

“Blue!”

“Awesome – so your counts will go in Blue and I’ll keep my yawns tallied in red. Then at the end of the week, we can add them up together and write them down hmm… do you know what color blue and red make?”

“Purple!”

“That’s right!” he says with a grin, lifting his palm for a high-five that’s enthusiastically returned, “We can call it Operation Purple Dawn – get it?”

“Cause’ it sounds like yawn!”

By the time Lisa comes back into the living room, Mike has dissolved into giggles and Barry can’t get the smile off his own face.

“Go help your dad get ready, kiddo,” Lisa says, taking a seat on the couch, “I have to give Barry some tips on surviving this place.”

“Okay,” Mike says cheerily as he runs over to a door down the hall and whistles a short tune before going in.

Barry grins after him, all the dread he’d felt in coming up to this apartment quickly transformed into comfort and excitement.

“No allergies or anything like that,” she starts, answering his question from before, “but since you’re here to watch over him at night you should know about the night terrors.”

Lisa Snart looks wary for the first time since he’s met her, which in all fairness was just this morning.

 “Thank you, it’s good for me to know ahead of time. Does he usually get out of bed, sleepwalk?”

She looks momentarily stunned and then nods, “Sometimes. You’ll find him in odd places around the house, just staring mostly. But some nights… they’re rough. He’ll just scream for ten minutes solid and scare the shit out of everyone and then …”

“Just plops right back to sleep,” Barry concludes.

“Yeah,” Lisa says with a sigh, “pretty much.”

“It happens,” Barry says, “I’ll be sure to keep an eye on his door to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself wandering out of bed.”

“You really know your stuff,” Lisa says.

Barry smiles, about to reassure her that yes actually he does, when Leonard and Mike walk out of what Barry assumes is the master bedroom and Barry loses all ability to use language.

Leonard is wearing a royal blue suit, clearly trimmed and tailored to every specific inch of his body, with a matching overcoat draped over his shoulder, collar popped like a cape. He looks regal, breathtaking, and Barry is feeling a little faint by the time he notices all the minute details from the soft blue pinstripes of his shirt to the icy blue rose pin on his lapel.

“He’s ready!” Mike announces, looking delighted and proud as he motions to show off his father.

“Gorgeous as always,” Lisa says, “what’ll it be tonight? Gala, I imagine?”

Leonard hums, adjusting his silver cufflinks as he looks himself over in the hallway mirror, “Australian ambassador’s dinner. Scarlet.”

Barry jumps like a trained puppy at the word, even though it’s only been his nickname for some ten minutes.

“Pick,” he says sharply, producing two little bits of fabric from God knows where. One is the same soft blue of the pinstripes while the other matches the icy blue rose. Numbly, still uncertain he won’t keel over from the sight in front of him, Barry points at the second pocket square.

Leonard rolls his eyes and hands that one to Mike who waves it around like a flag and runs off in the direction of the bedroom from which they’d emerged.

“No taste,” he drawls out, “but that’s not within the prevue of your job – I guess. Don’t try to dress my son, he can handle it much better than you. I can tell.”

Barry knows he should be insulted, but he’s mesmerized by the sight of Leonard’s hands folding the square deftly and tucking it into his breast pocket.

Lisa adjusts the fabric in a way Barry can only guess is unnecessary, “Mick need to know where you’ll be later?”

“Not tonight,” Leonard answers, “I’ll let him know if that changes. You really are a well-trained boy, Scarlet.”

The man hasn’t turned to look at him but Barry still tries to contain his dismayed expression at the words directed at him. It’s like the man has a full rulebook on how to disable his brain by being sexy.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“All this circus around you and there you are biting your tongue. Aren’t you going to ask?”

“Ask…what?”

“What I do for work. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

“I –“

“Lenny,” Lisa says, with a mixture of teasing and pride, “is the best escort in the Gem Cities.”

“Daddy’s job is to go to things with people who don’t have anyone to go with,” Mike recites, as he returns to the living room with a wallet and a cell phone in hand, “and he gets paid a lot because he’s pretty and smart."

“Thank you, Bluebird,” Leonard says softly, kissing the top of the boy’s head as he takes the wallet and phone from Mike and slips them into his pockets.

“I’m assuming that won’t be a problem for you, Scarlet,” he says out loud in a tone that leaves no room for such a problem to exist, “or that you’ll be wise enough to keep it to yourself if it is.”

“Nn...not at all, sir. I … it’s not a problem,” he says, before he says something absolutely stupid like – _of course you’re an escort, why would a gorgeous man like you not take that to the bank_ _._

“Good,” he says swiftly, “because I don’t tolerate any judgmental bullshit around my kid. Now. Places to be.”

He kneels to Mike’s level with more grace and confidence than anyone should be able to in such a tight and expensive looking suit and flings his coat behind him just like a king with a cape. He taps the boy’s nose before tapping his own; Mike giggles and leans in to scrunch his nose up to his father’s. And, just like that, the severe man who could have passed for a king turns into a soft and smiling dad, wishing his little boy goodnight. The spell breaks when he rises up and, just as quickly, he’s devastatingly sexy again.

“Keep an eye on this one. If he breaks anything, you’re paying for it,” he tells Lisa. He flicks his eyes quickly towards Barry, making him shiver, before turning his sharp attention back to his sister. “Goodnight, Train Wreck. See you in the morning, Scarlet.”

  
Stunned at being included in the evening’s goodbyes, Barry can only wave dumbly at the man who doesn’t bother looking behind him as he waltzes right out the door.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Miss Dane is by far Len’s preferred sort of client. A lifetime heiress, born and bred to be well spoken, well educated, and well dressed. In many ways, she is no different from an escort – except she gives money away instead of charging it. Miss Dane is 67 years old and the world she had grown up accustomed to is fading fast. The younger gentlemen she remembers hanging off the arm of her widowed aunts are not available to her, or at the very least they are found wanting. And so, like so many of the issues of her life, Miss Dane throws money at her loneliness – which means throwing money at him.

“Leonard, my sweet boy,” she says in that warm mid-Atlantic accent of hers, “you must find our evenings out such a terrible bore.”

“Never, Miss Dane,” he assures her, which is just what she likes to hear, “you’re an oasis.”

He reaches out for her hand which is dainty and thin and only lightly wrinkling. It makes her smile in that well-trained manner as she looks around the room.

“Then there must be another explanation for that faraway look in to those gemstone eyes of yours,” she says, with affection.

“Forgive me if I’m distant,” he says as he kisses her hand with the reverence she seeks, “my attention is undividedly yours.”

“Nothing to forgive, darling,” she answers taking a pair of champagne flutes passing by her and handing him one, “now come, let us take a turn about the room and scandalize some foreigners.”

As everyone in the room is doing their best to be dull, Len puts his every effort into making Miss Dane laugh and encourages the stories he knows she loves so dearly to tell but has put away like the old jewels that she thinks have fallen out of fashion. She is the heart of the party in moments, gathering the kind of court around her that can give her all the attention she craves. Several low rung diplomats give Len hungry looks, but he maintains his attention focused and singular on his companion. Still, nothing stops them from descending on him like vultures the moment she excuses herself.

“You know… Hannah is such a constant figure at these kinds of events and I think I’d remember having seen you with her before.”

“Miss Dane is a constant figure in any Central City event worth attending and I have had the pleasure of escorting her to several,” Len says, giving the smug looking man a judgmental onceover, “perhaps you are not as constant a figure yourself.”

He turns before the man can carry on embarrassing himself and bumps right into another man, no less smug but infinitely more familiar.

“Mr. Merlyn,” he greets as pleasantly as he can manage. Malcom Merlyn is exactly the kind of client that makes Len’s work feel like work. The man loves to remind Len that his time and body are paid for whenever he contracts his services for the night. Len doesn’t trust him as far as he can throw him and never goes out on a job with him without letting Mick know exactly where they’ll be spending the night.

“Mr. Wynters,” the man says with that self-satisfied smile of his, “taking Dame Maggie Smith out for a spin tonight? Bet she keeps you working hard until dawn. Isn’t this a waste of your assets and talents?”

“Miss Dane is a delight,” Len answers smoothly, “the city could do with more people like her.”

“I would be so much more interested in a city full of people like you,” Merlyn says with a leer.

“There are no people like me Malcom,” he says wrapping his derision in a seductive tone.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, my date is waiting for me,” he says as he spots Miss Dane stepping back into the room. He can feel Merlyn’s eyes on his ass and takes advantage of it. The man pays well, after all. Miss Dane is smiling at him very knowingly when he reaches her.

“Leonard, I do believe that man wants to take my date home with him,” she says, taking a sip of her drink and setting it down at the tall table in front of them.

“On the contrary, Miss Dane, everyone in the room is jealous of me for having you on my arm,” he says softly.

She laughs and squeezes his hand with surprising strength, “I think we should make our goodbye tour, I would much rather enjoy the rest of your company in private.”

Len makes sure to whisper his agreement in her ear and hold her close as they exit the room, studiously ignoring Merlyn’s stare as it follows them out of the room.

-

“You know Leonard, you’re nearly too good at this,” Miss Dane sighs as she trails her well-manicured hand over the curve of his spine. She’s always so entranced by his back, running her hands over it even while he’s getting dressed.

“I don’t need my ego stroked, you know you do plenty well yourself,” he says as he sits up.

“Not the sex, you silly boy,” she says as she reaches over his shoulder to offer him a cigarette which he declines. He quit in an over-eager attempt to be a good father when he found out Mike was on the way and rarely falls off the wagon these days.  

“Whatever _do_ you mean, madam?”

“I mean, dear, you would have made an excellent actor. I could almost believe that we had a scandalous little life you and me. But if I tempted you with every luxury; trips and bank cards and houses and cars… it would fall apart, your beautiful house of cards. Because there’s something you can’t be tempted away from, isn’t there Leonard?”

“You’re very contemplative tonight, Miss Dane,” he whispers, holding his shirt loosely in his hands.

“Only wistful,” she says pressing a kiss to his shoulder and shoving him from the bed, “I see myself dying in everyone’s eyes but yours. When did people become so rude as to look at another person with such pity?”

“Hannah,” he says quietly.

“Hush now,” she says, taking a drag of her cigarette and leaning into her pillows with a smile on her face, “our little agreement precludes any mention of ugly things like the truth. Or of my prying into your real life. Forgive me.”

“Of course,” he agrees, leaning into the tempting scent of smoke to kiss her the way she desires and deserves, as if she were young and wanted and not slowly dying.

“You do always know how to end on a good note, Leonard,” she laughs against his lips before reaching over to the nightstand and handing him an envelope.

“Always a pleasure Miss Dane,” he murmurs as he slips the envelope into his pocket and moves to pick up the rest of his things.

-

Len takes a moment outside the apartment to switch gears. It’s already five in the morning and there would be no point in sleeping for less than an hour before getting back up to help Mike get ready for school. He takes a breath and rolls his shoulders before opening his door. He startles slightly at the sight of a dim screen light in the darkened apartment. He hadn’t forgotten about his sister’s latest bout of guilt-induced meddling, but he hadn’t thought the kid would be awake by the time he got back.

He made his steps loud enough to be heard and the young man jumped on the couch looking over his shoulder. His face broke into a grin and he waved, setting the laptop down before walking over to him.

“Good morning,” Barry whispers.

“Morning,” he murmurs looking over the living room, “my sister?”

“She actually went home around three,” Barry says quietly, “I told her maybe she’d rather wait until morning but she said I could handle it.”

Len frowns but nods, after all Lisa would never do anything that would endanger Mike.

“And Mike?”

“Chicken and veggies for dinner, went to bed at nine thirty after a little haggling,” Barry reports.

“Did he…was he alright?”

“He did wander out of bed around midnight, but no trouble. I just led him back to his room and tucked him back in. He slept soundly after that,” Barry says without a trace of concern or judgement in his voice.

Len nods, feeling oddly comfortable around the boy. He takes a deep breath and heads into Mike’s room.

His son is sleeping just as soundly as Barry had described, his face relaxed and his little mouth open to tiny snores. He’s well tucked in, looking comfortable and warm and clutching that plush dinosaur he’s so fond of lately. He’s perfect, as he always is.

Len brushes a few curls from Mike’s face and presses a kiss to his forehead, rising to let the kid sleep another hour at least.

When he steps back out to the living room he finds Barry packing away his laptop. Len dips his hand into his pocket and pulls out Miss Dane’s envelope, picking out a couple of bills and handing them over to Barry.

“Can you do six nights a week?”

The young man looks at the money in his hands with raised eyebrows, “I – yeah, of course. Does that mean I’m hired?”

“My sister went home and my kid’s sound asleep,” he drawls out, “sounds like you’ve got approval.”

Barry grins, wide and genuine – it marks a hard contrast to Miss Dane’s long trained and carefully chosen smiles.

“Thank you Mr. Snart, sir. I know I just met Mike but he’s obviously a great kid and…”

“No need to tell me how amazing Mike is, I’m aware. Now, get out of here,” Len sighs, “I gotta get breakfast going.”

“I … you know, I’m more than happy to do an eight to eight? Get Mike ready for school while you get some rest.”

“Not necessary,” Len nearly snaps, “you only worry about looking after Mike while he’s asleep. I’m here when he’s awake.”

“Of course,” the young man says, obviously chagrined.

“See you tonight, Scarlet,” he answers, tucking the envelope back into his pocket and opening his door to usher the kid out, “six o’clock, not a moment sooner or later.”

Barry nods, impossibly alert and excited at five in the morning, “See you tonight, sir.”

Once the man is out the door, Len gets to work on prepping Mike’s lunch – a turkey sandwich with crust and a Nutella sandwich for dessert, cut into a circle with the rim of a glass. Len eats the sweet discarded corners and leans on the counter, pondering an article he read last week about micro-sleep. Lunch prepped and tucked into Mike’s lunchbox, he scribbles a note and drops it in to the pack before he moves on to breakfast.

By the time the sun is pouring into the apartment, he’s yawning helplessly and trying not to burn a pan of eggs when Mike pads into the kitchen.

“Morning daddy,” he mumbles, sleepy and rubbing at his eyes.

“Morning Bluebird,” he answers, dipping down to kiss the messy mop of his hair, “sleep well?”

“Mhm, Barry is so cool, he makes voices and makes up bedtime stories just like that,” he says snapping his fingers and gaining momentum with every word.

“Is he so cool,” Len hums, “cool as ice?”

“Cool as an igloo,” Mike giggles back.

“Alright, kid. Go wash up and get dressed, breakfast is almost done.”

As soon as Mike scampers out of the kitchen there’s a set of three hard knocks at the door.

“Come in!” he calls out, “I’m cookin’.”

There’s a soft curse and some scuffling before Mick gets into the apartment.

“Better be enough bacon there,” he grumbles as he makes a beeline for the coffee pot, “Jesus, fuck Snart how many cups you had already?”

“Not enough,” Len answers, throwing a few more strips of bacon into the mix.

“Where’s Lise,” Mick says more than asks before taking a gulp.

“Lisa took it upon herself to hire a babysitter for Mike,” he says, taking some satisfaction in watching Mick choke on his coffee, “she gave him a test run last night and fucked off.”

“Him? What the hell, Snart. You know I can watch Mike.”

“Lisa seems to think it would distract you from watching me,” Len drawls.

“Well,” Mick says with a shrug, “she’s got a point.”

“Yes, unfortunately so,” Len agrees, “file’s on my desk – Lisa went deep but if you were inclined…”

“Yeah - I’ll put eyes on him,” Mick says as he steals bacon off the drying plate.

“Uncle Mick!”

“Pipsqueak,” Mick greets, “hear ya been replacing me with a shiny new model.”

“Aw, don’t be jealous! Barry won’t let me watch anything cool on TV.”

“Gonna mess up your education, kid,” Mick says as he lifts Mike up on the countertop and adjusts his uniform collar.

Mick and Mike dig into their breakfasts with relish while Len vaguely picks at some eggs before giving up on the enterprise.

Mick glances up from his plate and rolls his eyes.

“Go to sleep, Snart.”

Beside him Mike nods, “Yeah daddy, I’m all ready and Uncle Mick is here, you can go sleep now!”

Len wants to argue, but the difference between giving in now and holding out to wave Mike off is ten more minutes in bed. He sighs and ruffles Mike hair for a moment.

“Alright, I’ll see you after school, Bluebird.”

Mike grins around his bite of eggs and waves, “See ya daddy!”

After that Len remembers the wonderful near orgasmic feeling of his head hitting the pillow and the next thing he knows, Mike’s voice is small and careful at the door. Len shoots up in bed, knowing he shouldn’t have gone to bed before he was absolutely sure Mike was ready – but the brief disorientation doesn’t last.

“Are you okay daddy? Uncle Mick’s parkin’.”

Len frowns and scrambles for his phone before catching sight of the digital display clock by his bed.

“Fuck,” he swears quietly before stumbling out of bed.

“Prince I’m so sorry,” he croaks out, “did you have to wait a long time – I …”

“No daddy,” Mike whispers as he walks into the darkened bedroom, “you’re always extra early so I asked Susan to borrow her phone when I saw you weren’t there and called Uncle Mick.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry Bluebird I didn’t mean to sleep so long – were you worried? I…”

“S’alright daddy,” Mike smiles, “thought you might have a cold.”

“No little prince,” Len sighs, leaning down to pull Mike into a hug, “I’m okay. And you were real clever calling uncle Mick right away. I’m sorry you had to wait at all.”

“Will you help me with my homework? I have to do an art project for next week.”

“Of course,” Len promises, “we’ll work on it until Barry gets here yeah? Come on, I think I hear uncle Mick.”

Mick didn’t give him any shit for sleeping through the day and not waking up in time to pick up Mike from school or for looking like a racoon that got put through a trash compressor.

“Thinkin’ Lisa made the right call,” he says, once Mike has had his snack and ran off to get changed.

“Yeah well I hired the kid, didn’t I,” Len sighs, “thanks for running in and –“

“Hey, don’t gotta thank me for shit,” Mick interrupts, “what the fuck.”

“Yeah, I know,” he answers, “but thanks.”

The days are turning into a timeless mass for Len and he knows that it’s only getting worse. He helps Mike put his art project together and asks about his day. He listens patiently as Mike explains the most current schoolyard drama – Susan, the classroom’s resident cellphone holder, got into a tiff with Amber who called her gadget a ‘baby phone’.

“And then she said it was a dumb phone, cause it’s not a smartphone? And she thought it was sooo clever, but I’ve heard that joke a like a gazillion times before,” Mike continues.

“Maybe we should get you a phone, dumb or otherwise,” Len posits, “you know, in case I oversleep again.”

Mike tilts his head and thinks about it.

“Mmm I think I’ll just use Susan’s or call using the office phone,” Mike responds.

“Don’t want to be the big honcho with a phone, Bluebird?”

“Nah,” Mike shrugs, “then everyone would ask to use it. It’s easier if I just use Susan’s phone.”

Len laughs, proud of Mike’s logic. They finish up the project and take turns with the shower, finally getting to dinner by the time the doorbell rings.

“Barry!”

Len rubs the back of Mike’s head and nods over to the door, “Go let Barry in.”

When the two of them come into the kitchen, Mike has climbed all the way up Barry’s side and is clinging like a chimp to the lanky man.

“Evening, Scarlet,” he greets.

The young man blushes, which is a lovely sight, and then manages to convince Mike to climb down.

“Mr. Snart, I can take care of dinner,” he says as he starts to step around him to lift the pot right off the stove, “really it’s not trouble, and you can start getting ready for work?”

Len takes a moment to study the man in front of him. He’s eager, of course, but he’s also genuine and gentle with Mike. He’s never had to get any outside help with his son, Lisa and Mick have always been at the ready – but he must admit that with Lisa leaving town in a few days and Mick picking up more work he’s going to need the extra help.

“Alright,” he says, “I guess I should check on your culinary skills if you’re going to be feeding my kid.”

Barry sings while he cooks, songs that Mike doesn’t know but tries to follow along with anyway. Len does his best to get ahead on some emails, funneling potential new clients to Laurel for vetting and confirming appointments with regulars. When a plate of broccoli mac and cheese with an actual baked bread crumble lands in front of him, Len schools his expression to vaguely approving instead of impressed.

“Well Scarlet, at least you know how to sneak a vegetable in there,” he comments, “I’m going to get ready for work.”

“Don’t take a long bath daddy, you might fall asleep,” Mike says between giggles.

Len mock glares before ruffling his hair and looking up at Barry’s curious eyes. He wasn’t about to admit to this guy that he’d overslept.

“I’ll take as long of a bath as I want, kiddo, given it’s my tub,” he starts.

“In your bathroom,” Mike recites.

“In our house,” he finishes, he always likes to tease Mike about staying out of his bathroom – but he also likes to remind him that this home is theirs. Len would have liked it if his father had said something like that. He doesn’t take a luxurious bath, he doesn’t really get any of those at home, but he does take a hot shower and then takes his sweet time picking out an outfit for the night. He’s tittering between a pair of silk shirts when his phone buzzes.

“Yeah Mick,” he answers, holding the shirts up to himself in the mirror.

“Haven’t told me where I’m pickin’ you up tonight,” he grunts out.

“I don’t need a pick up tonight,” he says as he settles on the crimson shirt.

“Like fuck you don’t. That stupid calendar that Lisa synced on my phone says you got Merlyn tonight,” Mick says.

“Wrong Merlyn,” Len assures him, biting back a smile even though Mick can’t see him, “going to Tommy’s tonight. Should be home by three.”

“No shit, you’re doin’ Merlyn’s kid too?”

“Well I wasn’t about to turn a good client down,” Len says, finally giving in and smiling into his phone, “but I do get a little pleasure from playing double agent.”

“You crazy fucker,” Mick growls, “call me if little Merlyn is as creepy as his dad.”

“Daddy?”

“Gotta go Mick,” he says before dropping the call, “what’s up Bluebird.”

“Daddy, can you tell Barry that Friday bedtime is ten?”

“I will, hey – red shirt or blue?”

Mike looks over at the shirts on his bed and scrunches his nose, “Navy and crimson dad – and red is not your color.”

“You little snob,” he laughs swooping down to pick him up, “I’m going to tell Barry that Friday bedtime is seven.”

“Daddy!”’

“Seven, huh?” Barry leans on the door and looks in at them with that distressing sincerity, “Better get ready.”

“Daddy tell him,” Mike insists, coming close to pouting.

“Alright fine, ten it is,” he acquiesces.

He sets Mike down and watches him race off and out of the room, “Scarlet?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You don’t have to wait up, you can make yourself comfortable on the couch,” he offers

Barry smiles like a sudden sunrise. He isn’t sure if the younger man just smiles too often or if it's the quality of that smile, but Len can’t help noting it every time it appears. He is enthralled and distracted by it, which only makes him want to get away from it all the more. He turns his attention back to the shirt and once he hazards another glance up finds that Barry has disappeared from his doorway, no doubt running after Mike somewhere. It could be awkward, having this guy around in the place where he’s most vulnerable – but if he’s trusting Mike to him then he’s just going to have to get used to the man’s presence - no matter how fascinating and bewildering it might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Infinite thanks again to my wonderful cheerleader/betas, <3 blue_wonderer and Crimson1 <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your patience, it's been a month of getting out of my deep mental funk and defrosting so I really appreciate the encouragement to keep going with this fic. And extra love and hugs to Crimson1 who has been there to listen to me whining all month and taking a look at this chapter <3

Somewhere, probably high up in the sky and possibly on the moon, someone is directing his life to play out like a sitcom. Barry is sure of it, because he’s only just finished assuring Iris that he is not crushing like a twelve-year-old on his employer when the handsome devil himself comes up on his caller ID, the name on the display alone making Barry’s cheeks light up like stop signs.

“Well go on!” Iris says as she shoves his phone closer to him, “It’s work!”

Barry takes a deep breath before picking up the phone and putting it up to his ear.

“Mr. Snart?”

“ _Barry – hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”_

“I …no, not at all.”

“ _Was wondering if you had plans this weekend._ ”

“You want to know if I have plans this weekend? Like…other than tonight?” Barry watches Mike every other Saturday, so this call can’t be about that.

Iris’s eyebrows climb up so high Barry thinks they might disappear.

“ _I have an offer on the table for a weekender – that’s tonight till Monday morning –thought I’d ask you before I turn it down. Haven’t taken one in a while, but I figured if you’re available to spend the whole weekend with Mike you’d like the gig_.”

“Yes, I…of course. Yes, I’m totally…totally free. I’d be happy to watch Mike this weekend.”

“ _See you tonight. Scarlet_.”

Barry blushes that exact color, he’s sure of it, “See you tonight, Mr. Snart.”

“Jesus Christ,” Iris mutters before taking a deep drink of her coffee, “I hope you’re not gagging for it like that in front of his kid.”

“Iris!”

“Well you are,” she says, with a short shrug. Barry doesn’t think Iris has ever been this happy, not ever. Maybe that’s what has her all giddy and crude.

 “You’ve turned back into your college self since you got married, you know that?”

She only smiles at that. Then it’s easy to derail the conversation into Eddie and how well the bakery is doing and how much more he seems to worry every day that Iris will get hurt on the job.

“He keeps telling me that he’ll never ask me to quit the force,” she sighs, “but his eyes are just screaming with it every time I come home. I’m this close to making detective though and well – it’s not safer per say but…”

“It’s everything you’ve ever wanted,” Barry concludes, “and even though I get what Eddie’s feeling – what everyone who loves you feels – that doesn’t mean you quit your dreams over it.”

“Of course not,” she agrees, “but I think that down the line – especially when we start having kids – it’ll be easier to compromise. Just not now, not when I’m so close I can taste it.”

They talk for a while longer and then Barry runs home to pack extra clothes in his overnight bag, three nights worth and a couple of new board games that Mike will probably love. He’s so busy planning out what he and Mike can do over the weekend that he’s still distracted when he knocks and finds himself face to face with possibly the scariest human being Barry has ever seen. The man is broad and muscled and he’s got a handsome but thoroughly terrifying face and Barry’s sure he goes pale before he hears Mike’s sweet little voice from behind the mountain of a man in front of him.

“Barry this is Uncle Mick!”

“Hi,” Barry manages, “I’m Mike’s babysitter.”

He’s heard a lot about Uncle Mick in the last few weeks, how he’s the one to pick up Mike in the mornings and take him to school, how he’s the one that gets a call when Mr. Snart just isn’t trusting of a particular client and wants some backup. Barry isn’t really sure if the man is Mr. Snart’s bodyguard or best friend or boyfriend or all of the above.

“Pipsqueak ain’t a baby,” the man says in a voice that sounds like tires rolling over gravel, “he and I used to have fun before you came ‘round with your Mary Poppins shit-“

“Now, Mick,” Mr. Snart’s velvet drawl said as he appeared beside the man, “stop being so droll and let Scarlet in.”

The man steps aside with a sustained glare and lets Barry in, Mike hopping up to hug him as soon as he did.

“Uncle Mick’s just grumpy cause he used to watch me all the time before you,” Mike explains.

“I don’t blame him,” Barry says, careful to keep his eyes on Mike.

“Yes well, Uncle Mick’s got a paying job he can’t keep begging off from,” Mr. Snart declares as he steps closer. He looks intimate and familiar with Mick, comfortable. They murmur a conversation too low and clearly private to be overheard before Mick calls out his goodbyes to Mike and claps Mr. Snart twice on the shoulder before heading out with a glare at Barry.

God, Barry has been crushing on the man who pays his salary, the man whose child he looks after, but he’s also been lusting like a fool after someone who’s already in a relationship. He really is pathetic. He’s so busy reprimanding his overactive infatuation to realize that Mr. Snart is all but ready to go, with a sleek carry-on bag waiting by the door.

“Now Scarlet, you’ll be nicely compensated for the overtime. When I make more, you make more. The usual rules apply. And here,” he says as he pulls out a shiny black card from his wallet, “have a fun weekend, I’ll be back by pick-up time on Monday.”

Mike zooms through the apartment grabbing various last-minute items for his dad, the way he usually does. This time he brings a sunglasses case, a little bottle of face cream, and his dad’s iPhone.

“How many clues do I get this time?” Mike asks.

Mr. Snart hums to himself in mock-contemplation, “Let’s say three clues.”

“Got it,” Mike grins.

“And no checking the Find My Phone, you sneak, I can see when you do it,” he warns with a smile before he leans down and, in a ritual that has become as familiar and comforting to Barry as it seems to be for them, taps Mike’s nose before tapping his own making Mike laugh and scrunch their noses up to each other’s.

The first evening with Mike after Mr. Snart leaves for the weekend is like any other, except Mike has all sorts of plans for what he wants to do over the weekend, from the museum to the comics store. Barry is probably just as if not more excited than Mike is. He seems fine with his dad’s departure, pulling a huge atlas out of his dad’s office almost as soon as he walks out the door.

“Weekenders are sometimes out of town,” Mike explains as he heaves the big book down on the wooden coffee table in the living room, “so daddy sends me clues, and I get to guess where in the world he is.”

Barry nods as he sits beside him and they begin to flip through the book, “And when do the clues start arriving?”

Mike turns to him with the most impressive imitation of his father’s “god-but-you’re-stupid” face.

“He already gave us one,” Mike says as if stating the perfectly obvious, “sunglasses and sunscreen?” Mike digs through a nearby knick-knacks box to produce a pad of sticky notes and proceeds to mark the obviously sunny places and the ones you wouldn’t think of for a weekend vacation as well. He marks a map of California and a wide view of the Caribbean, but he also marks the Arab Emirates and the entire continent of Africa.

Barry notes all his selections which seem varied but not all encompassing, “What about Arizona?”

 Mike tilts his head and asks in full innocence, “Why would anyone want to go there?”

Barry grins and pulls out his iPad, to show Mike some shots of the Grand Canyon. They spend nearly an hour looking up information about it; how it came to be and how people can visit it and what really rich people might do there. Finally, Mike is convinced – and much more knowledgeable about rock formations – placing a sticky note on a full-page map of Arizona as well.

While Barry preps dinner and Mike works on getting his homework out of the way for the weekend, he gets a call from Mr. Snart himself.

“How’s the homefront doing, Scarlet?”

“Everything’s going well. Mike’s got an agenda for the weekend so I guess he took that off my hands,” he comments.

“My kid wants what he wants, but don’t let him get greedy at the gift shops,” Mr. Snart says.

“I won’t, oh – and we’ve got your location narrowed down to ‘sunny places rich people go to’.”

“As good a start as any,” Mr. Snart says with a quiet hint of laughter in his annoyingly enticing voice, “does he look worried?”

“Not at all,” Barry tells him honestly, “he’s really okay.”

He thinks he can understand the anxiety of going so far from the little person who makes up your whole world, but he knows he can’t truly understand – at least not yet. His time with families is usually only a couple of weeks or months at most until he finds that people’s comments about a male babysitter or the entire dynamic of having someone else look after your kids just doesn’t work for them, no matter how good Barry is at it. The thought of that happening again, the idea of having to move on from Mike and Mr. Snart when it’s already hard to enjoy a day without them in it, it clenches at his heart and his stomach. He hopes that they’re both happy enough with him to let him stay.

“Alright, I’ll let you get back to dinner,” he says, “have Mike text me before bed.”

“I will,” he promises, “have a good flight, Mr. Snart.”

“How did you-“

“The engines are pretty tell-tale,” Barry grins into the phone, “but don’t worry, we didn’t have you pinned down anywhere you didn’t need to fly to anyway.”

“Goodbye, Scarlet,” the man says before the line clicks.

They have their usual afternoon ritual of dinner and a board game, with a little TV in the background. Sometimes, Mike will ask for a story at bedtime, but tonight after he FaceTimes with his dad, he only wants to talk to Barry about where in the world he could be – a look of sheer curiosity and excitement on his face.

“There were palm trees,” he mutters as Barry tries to settle him into bed.

“Lots of places have palm trees,” Barry tells him as he tucks him in, “we’ll put all the clues on a big board together in the morning, that way you can see it more clearly. But now you have to let all the clues swim together in your sleep, you’ll wake up with an idea – I’m sure of it.”

Once Mike is finally down for the count, Barry sets himself up on the couch to binge watch whatever pops up next on Netflix. He’s three episodes into Great British Bake Off when he gets a text. It’s a picture of a plush red seat, like you’d find in a movie theater only very evidently a swankier one. Barry wouldn’t be surprised if it was upholstered in actual velvet and leather. The last clue, if the accessory hunt and the background palm trees really counted, would make Mike’s morning for sure. Then came another text.

_Hope you’re not thinking of sleeping on the couch._

Barry tilts his head to the side in confusion, a habit he’s picked up from Mike who has most certainly picked it up from his father.

_I don’t really fit in Mike’s bed though?_

He swears he can hear the exasperated drawl in the next message.

_You can sleep in my bedroom, Scarlet. I should have made that clear._

Barry blinks at the text. He’s never crossed the threshold of Mr. Snart’s bedroom before. It seems a holy and private place, the kind of place he – as hired help – should be expected to keep out of, but instead he’s being encouraged to sleep in it.

 _Are you sure?_ He texts back. The response comes almost immediately.

_There’s nothing in that room that’s more precious than my kid, Scarlet, and I already left him in your care._

The answer warms him and makes his stomach jump and he is just so so very ridiculous. He needs to get his act together and remember to be a professional.

_Goodnight Mr. Snart._

_Call me Len._

It isn’t fair. Barry’s trying so hard to stay a consummate professional and here this man comes at him with ‘call me Len’. Hell. That just isn’t fair.

_Goodnight, Len._

_Goodnight, Scarlet._

Barry decides to binge watch a little more and then he changes his clothes in the guest bathroom, because he might have permission to go into his boss’s bedroom, but using his ensuite seems a step too far. Finally, when it’s well past midnight with no signs of Mike having night terrors and nothing left to do to delay the inevitable, he steps into Len’s room.

He really isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but it probably isn’t this. Barry tries not to spend too much time dwelling on the fact that Mr. Snart – Len – is a professional escort. It means a lot of things, as he’s learned, a lot more than he expected. It means that Len has to keep up to date in all sorts of topics and be well spoken and impeccably groomed and well mannered, but it does also mean, as much as Barry can surmise, that he sleeps with people for money. Barry doesn’t have any judgements about it, has reflected long enough on the matter to make sure he wasn’t bringing any weird hang ups with him, but he is curious. He’s curious as to whether Len enjoys his work, whether it’s ever unpleasant or as glamorous as different movies would make it seem. He wonders if in another life, where Barry was ludicrously wealthy, he would have found himself hiring Len’s services for himself. But it’s all idle curiosity and fantasy, certainly nothing that he would dare speak out loud to him and certainly nothing of consequence.

Everything that is of consequence about Leonard Snart is in the room around him now. There are no red walls or bondage fixtures or black silken sheets. Instead the room looks comfortable, well lived in but luxurious. The walls are full of pictures; of two young boys in ripped jeans and battered shirts leaning up against a rusted truck, pictures of a little girl mid twirl in an ice rink, a picture of all three of them only a little older sitting on a stoop holding various combinations of cigarettes and beer. And then there are pictures of Mike. Mike as a newborn bundle cradled in his aunt Lisa’s arms, pictures of Mike mid soccer game, and of Mike showing off an art project, Mike on his uncle Mick’s unbelievably broad shoulders, pictures of Mike and his dad all smiles and eyes and it’s enough to make Barry’s heart burst with warmth.

Beside the bed there is a black leather box, long and slim and dangerous looking. That, Barry decides, is the only hint that the man who rests in this room is anything other than a wildly devoted soccer dad. That, Barry decides, is something he isn’t going to dare explore. Instead he climbs onto the bed – soft royal blue cotton sheets and the softest pillows he’s ever seen – and tries not to lose himself in the sandalwood scent that he’s come to associate with Len. He tries to remain staunchly professional, even if he cannot help the unprofessional alleys down which his dreams take him.

The next day is full of excitement, with a visit to the Central City Science Museum, lunch by the bay, and most importantly, Mike’s assertion that he’s guessed where exactly his father is.

“Look,” he says, moving aside his fish n’ chips to splay an actual newspaper in front of Barry – and where and when the hell did Mike get that from?

“It’s gotta be this: sun, palm trees, movie theater. Dad’s got to be here,” he says as he points decidedly at the front-page column on the Cannes film festival. Barry’s gotta say that it makes a lot of sense, but the idea that Len is all the way in Cannes getting paid God knows how much money to be someone’s date to such a world renowned event is absolutely mind blowing.

“Final answer?”

“Yup,” Mike says with all the confidence in the world, “let’s text him.”

Barry hands over his phone since Mike, unlike other wealthy kids, doesn’t own any personal electronics. Still, he types with the ease natural to kids of his generation and shoots off a text before dipping back into his meal.

They talk about their day at the science museum and how cool jellyfish are and how they need to find an aquarium that’s nice to its animals so they can see some more jellyfish when the phone dings with a new text.

_Got it in one, Bluebird._

Mike goes on to perform the most intricate celebration dance Barry’s ever seen outside a football field and he can’t help himself, he has to join in. No one around them knows what exactly they’re celebrating, but they seem animated as they clap along. Finally, Mike dissolves into pure giggles and sends a veritable wall of emojis on Barry’s phone.

After such a long and eventful day, Mike falls into bed easily and Barry settles into the couch for a few more hours of Netflix before deciding to turn in. He’s only just shut his laptop off when he notices a shadow out of the corner of his eye.

He can't help but startle when he sees the little shadowy form of Mike standing on the unlit doorway. Still, he prefers these little jump scares to the heart stopping fright of Mike's screams on the rougher nights. The little boy shouts himself hoarse in a dream he can't be woken from and all Barry can do is sit by him trying in vain to sooth him until he stops, some interminable minutes later, and falls right back to bed. It gets easier each time and a little less terrifying, but Mike's night terrors are certainly the most intense Barry's ever dealt with.  
  
Given all that, he really does prefer the nights when Mike just stands around all spooky like until Barry ushers him softly back to his room.

"Alright buddy, about turn, let's get you back in bed," he whispers as he sets his computer down and moves to stand.

"I'm not sleep walking," Mike mumbles from the doorway, giving Barry another small heart attack.  
  
"Oh," he says sitting back on the plush sofa, "what's going on dude? Can't sleep?"

Mike rubs at his eyes and shakes his head so that his dark curls bounce as he walks over to the sofa, clambering up to sit beside Barry.

"Do you miss your dad?"

"Kinda," he says with a tiny hiccup of a shrug.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No," he says within a yawn, cuddling up to Barry's arm. He smiles down at the boy and makes sure he's comfortable.

"Want a story?"

"Song," Mike mutters into Barry's shirt.

"A song. Alright let's see...,” Barry thinks for a moment as he gathers Mike up in his arms, making sure he’s comfortable until the right song hits him and he hums it softly to the boy, “ _Blue skies smiling at me, nothing but blue skies, do I see. Bluebirds, singing a song, nothing but bluebirds, all day long_."

Mike is fast asleep in short order and so Barry carries him back to his bedroom. He’s only shifting the covers aside to tuck him back in when he sees it, a framed photo of a pretty girl with blond hair and icy blue eyes holding a toddler Mike, her cheek pressed against his messy dark curls and she’s smiling like the world is perfect. Barry moves the picture aside and puts Mike back in bed before he takes another look at it.

There’s something about her eyes, they’re not sad exactly, but heavy, like she’s older than the rest of her would suggest. Her eyes are as blue and bright as Mike and Mr. Snart’s…Len’s… but the resemblance between the two adults ends there. She looks nothing like the Snart siblings and there’s too much of her in Mike for her to be anyone else.

Barry looks down at her, wondering her fate and feeling inexplicably heartbroken. He’s been working here for nearly a month and he’s never seen her, never heard her mentioned, never even known she existed. He can only conclude she no longer does. That bright and young and beautiful as she had been, she must be gone. Because there’s no mistaking the shape of her eyebrows or the turn of her lips, the woman in the picture is – perhaps _was_ – Mike’s mother.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things in this chapter are references to real life news, you're not imagining things.

Len’s job has good parts and bad parts, ups and downs, things he loves and things he hates about it – just like any other job. The sex, it can be any one of those things on any given night. Tonight, it’s not exactly the best part.

Axel Walker is a nice enough kid, son of a big shot completely deranged director who has gotten kicked out of all sorts of festivals and will most likely get kicked out again tomorrow night for showcasing unsavory things that Len himself can hardly stomach – and he’s not exactly one to censure art. So, Axel isn’t the dick he could be, given his father, but he’s definitely not a dream client. Axel Walker is a terrible client because he’s not into it. It’s only the second time the boy flinches but it’s more than enough for Len to back down. He leans away (slowly) and lays Axel down on the mountain of pillows (slowly) and trails the back of his fingers over his cheek (slowly) and then asks gently as he can.

“Why don’t you tell me what you want, Axel?”

“This,” he says all the way desperately before shutting his eyes as if he can make the bad things go away, “I swear I’m into it, come on let’s just do it.”

“Axel,” he says, changing his tone to be just this side of commanding, “look at me.”

The boy opens his eyes and there’s a flinch again, as if Len’s eyes on him hurt as much as a slap.

“Talk to me,” Len orders, firm but gentle.

“I thought a guy would do it,” he blurts out like a confession, “I’ve tried it with a bunch of girls, the prettiest and the best that money could buy. It didn’t work so I thought… it’s alright, now, isn’t it? People don’t mind? Maybe I’m into guys. I can deal with that. And everyone said you’re the best and you are – I’m sure – I ain’t doubting you’re the best. You’re so pretty.”

Axel looks like he’s about to dissolve into sobs, so Len holds his face between his palms and leans in, touching their foreheads together in a way he hopes feels safe, “Axel, breathe.”

“I don’t wanna be broken,” he whispers, eyes clenched shut again.

“I don’t see anything broken anywhere,” Len whispers back, “I’m gonna put my clothes back on, will that help?”

Axel shakes his head, still held between Len’s palms, “Doesn’t matter to me. Doesn’t do anything for me anyway.”

He barely breathes out the last, like he can’t believe he’s saying and like he honestly hates himself for it.

“Then we’ll stay just like this,” Len says, but he helps Axel wrap himself in the blankets and sneaks his briefs back on anyway.

“I’ll pay you double the weekend,” he says suddenly, “triple, but please don’t tell anyone.”

“If I were in the business of extorting my clients you’d be nowhere on that list, Axel. Relax, breathe.”

“I just want to be normal,” he says, louder but forlorn.

“Never put much stock in normal myself,” Len shrugs, “but that aside, ain’t anything wrong with not liking sex.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” Axel says, “I wanna be with someone, I want… like…to fall in love and stuff.”

“Who says you can’t?”

“Who’s gonna want me like this?” the boy sniffles.

“Someone who thinks video game designers who collect beanie babies are the bee’s knees, Axel. It’s a limited group of individuals, I’ll admit, but it exists. Sex being a non-starter for you isn’t going to leave you alone forever. Being a total psychopath like your father on the other hand…”

“I’ll still pay you double,” Axel says with a shy look, “for being so damn nice about it.”

“You’ll pay me what we agreed, not a penny more or less. You paid me to be with you this weekend, to be for you, and I will be. I’m not here for your father and I’m not here to get my face plastered in the newspapers and I’m not here to have sex with you if that’s not what you want. I’m here for you. So Axel, what do you want to do?”

As it turns out what Axel wants to do is cuddle and play video games in a three thousand dollar a night hotel room, he wants to ask for extravagant room service, he wants to take selfies for his Instagram, and he wants to show Len his latest acquisition in the high-risk world of Beanie Baby collecting.

The next morning when they wake up, after a ridiculous breakfast of tangerine crepes and pistachio macarons, Axel wants to skip his father’s screening.

“It’s so fucked up, Len,” he mutters around a sugary green bite, “you have no idea how many actors threw up and cried and how many lawyers had to get called and it’s so ugly. Not like horror movie ugly just like…”

“Yeah,” Len nods, taking a salty sweet bite of his own, “I’m familiar with your father’s work. So, we won’t go.”

“But… I can’t-“

“You most certainly can,” Len say, tugging at the other man’s chin, “you paid for this room and this fancy junk food and for the pleasure of my company all yourself, because you’re a grown man who can do whatever he wants. And if what you want is to enjoy the Riviera and not traumatize yourself, then that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

-

Barry wakes up early on Monday morning to make sure he’s got every step of Mike’s morning routine in order. He has to get breakfast going by six so that Mike has enough time to wake up, get washed up, dressed, fed, and be ready to go by the time Mick rolls in to take him to school.  

All of these to do’s come to a screeching halt when Barry has the brilliant idea to pick up the morning paper when he hears it thumped against the apartment door. It isn’t like it’s splashed as the top headline, but there is a column right at the bottom corner of the front page – _JAMES’ SON JOINS BOYCOTT OF CANNES SCREENING_. It wouldn’t have meant anything to Barry who doesn’t keep up with films that weren’t once comic books or contain spaceships, but he knows that Len is at Cannes and curiosity gets the best of him. The front page snippet talks about how Jesse James, a long-time controversial director, had brought something particularly objectionable to the festival and that his son had skipped the showing of the film. It didn’t seem like much, but he kept reading, and then right there - continued on page 8G – was Len. He was leaning casually and unmistakably on the railing of a yacht, shoulder to shoulder with a man about Barry’s age with spiked hair and lime green swim trunks. Len himself wore blue swim briefs and the sunglasses that Mike had handed him just a few days ago.

_Walker and his Cannes date take chartered yacht during the screening of James’ film, “Jack in the Box”._

Barry stares at that caption and that picture until the click of an opening door makes him jump full off the ground.

“Barry?”

“Mike! Um, breakfast is almost ready, why don’t you go get dressed?”

Mike mumbles something sleepy and turns right towards the bathroom while Barry fumbles with the newspaper. As much as Len seems casual with Mike about his occupation, Barry isn’t really sure how much Mike is allowed to know about it. He tucks the paper into a cabinet and carries on with the scrambled eggs, trying not to ruin breakfast with the image of Len in short swimwear burns deeper into his brain.

“Daddy’s back today,” Mike says as he digs into his breakfast.

“That’s right, bud, he might even be back by the time you get home from school.”

Mike smiles at that but then his little forehead furrows and his head tilts in that way so much like his father, “But…does that mean you’ll have to go?”

“Well,” Barry says as he leans on the counter, “your dad will be home and he probably won’t go to work for a few nights, but I’ll be back when you guys need me.”

Mike sets his fork down and looks thoroughly unsatisfied with that answer, “But what if we always need you?”

The question squeezes Barry’s heart. A wild and silly voice in his mind wants to say that he always needs them too, that he misses them during the daytime and that he always wonders how they are and where they are when he’s not around. But before he has to swallow all that down and think of something sensible to say there are three heavy knocks at the door.

Barry never thought he’d be so relieved to see someone glare at him the way Mick does when he walks into the apartment.

“Ready to go pipsqueak?”

Mike nods and runs off to grab his backpack, shoving his plate forward before he goes.

“How was he?”

“He was great,” Barry says with a smile and then he thinks about it for a moment, “he did wake a few times nothing major but… I – well if you could mention to Len. If you think it’s appropriate I mean…if it’s not too sensitive a topic…I think that Mike misses his mother.”

“His mother?”

“Yes I – I’m not sure if it’s something they talk about but I thought maybe-“

“Ready!” Mike shouts as he runs back into his room with his back pack strapped on.

“Alright kiddo,” Mick says, still staring at Barry like he’s grown a second head, “let’s get out of here.”

“Bye Barry!”

“By-e, bye Mike!”

-

Barry sits for what feels like hours, wondering if he’s stepped completely out of line. He never should have mentioned Mike’s mother, not even to Mick. What if Mick does tell Len about it? And what if Len gets upset that Barry is butting into something so personal for his family? What if he tells Barry never to come back again or worse…what if he never calls for Barry at all. What if he just pays him off and Barry never hears from either one of them again?

He’s nearly driven himself to tears when he hears the scrape of a key and watches the door open slowly. Len looks beautiful as he always does, in grey slacks and a dark green button up shirt. He also looks shocked for a brief moment before he shakes his head.

“You could have just locked behind yourself Barry, there was no need to wait for me,” he says as he moves forward and lays his jacket on the couch.”

“I… I just thought – I’m sorry.”

“No, Barry. It’s alright. I just didn’t mean for you to waste your day after three days of work.”

“It’s hardly work,” he blurts out and then he remembers himself.

“Yeah well, still,” Len says, seemingly at a loss for words. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a check, “Figured this might be better than cash, that okay?”

Barry takes the check and nods, not even looking at the amount. Len was always generous no matter how many times Barry reminded him of his hourly rate. He feels dumb and flustered and completely unprofessional whenever Len is around and he knows that his affection for Mike is more than a babysitter’s should be. He’s grown too close to them, too attached, the very thought of being dismissed drives him mad and yet-.

 “I’ve been thinking about what Lisa said,” Len finally breaks the silence, “about keeping you on more permanently. It seems her post in Washington is more promising than she thought and if you’d be willing we could give you her room.”

Barry stares, shocked into complete silence. He’d come to think that the proposal about becoming an Au Pair had been some of Lisa’s more fantastical ideas and not something that Len would ever agree to and here they are. Barry just contemplating how empty his life would be without them while Len offers him a place inside their home.

“The pay would rise accordingly of course,” Len continues, taking Barry’s silence as a sign of reluctance, “and you would still have days off, we could negotiate all that –“

“Yes. Yes of course I would like – it’s not about the money,” he says, even though perhaps in all likelihood he shouldn’t, “you don’t need to… I love my work I love…working for you, working with Mike I… don’t need convincing.”

Len smiles at that, small and tired like most of his smiles. Then, unable to help himself, Len yawns. Barry tries to contain his smile and makes a mental note to add that yawn to today’s red tally.

“Let’s say next week then,” Len says in a more dismissive tone.

“Next week,” Barry agrees as he picks up his duffle bag from beside the couch, “I’ll see you next week, Len.”

He knows he’s imagining it, the way he feels Len’s gaze linger on him as he walks out the door.

But then he says, soft like melting caramel, “See you then, Barry.”

Barry shivers under the sun, all the way home.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small chapter with a sprinkle of angst before we get back to the regularly scheduled fluff.

“So, you listened to dad about the apartment, huh?”

“It’s the smart thing to do,” he says, practically sighing into his coffee, “it’s a job.” Anything could happen.”

He says it because it’s true, but the thought of it hurts his chest. It’s still a job, he could be fired or let go and if his apartment wasn’t there waiting for him he’d be left adrift. Those were the practical thoughts Joe had brought up and Barry’s dad had promptly agreed with. But when Barry thinks about the remote possibility of losing his job it’s not unemployment that makes his gut clench. It’s the thought of days without Mike and Len’s blue eyes, Mike’s laughs, Len’s yawns, the quiet and the loud of them.

“Earth to Barry?”

“Sorry, I … yeah I decided to sublet it for the time being. It’s the adult thing, right?”

“Sure, but if your place is sublet, where are you going to take all your hot dates at the end of the night?”

Iris managed to keep a straight face to his raised eyebrow for all of five seconds before they both doubled over in laughter. Barry hadn’t exactly been out in the dating scene in a while and they were both well aware of it.

“I should go, Len will be back from picking up Mike soon.”

“God, you’re so domestic.”

“Your husband is a baker, you want more domestic than that?”

“It’s the perfect kind of domestic, he brought cherry pie home yesterday and it was still warm.”

“There’s no need to brag, Iris.”

When Barry reaches the building, he feels a strange premonition in his gut. It reminds him of the first time he ever set foot in the place and it accompanies him all the way to the apartment door. As soon as he steps inside he stops dead on his tracks at the sight that greets him. On the countertop, where he and Len work on supper side by side, where Mike eats his breakfast and rattles off about his day after school, where they play games or show each other newspaper comics, there on that countertop there is a woman. Her hair is a dirty blond and her clothes are slashed and singed in places. Her leg is outstretched and it’s bleeding – a lot. She’s sitting facing away from the door and doesn’t turn to look, especially as Mike runs out of the bathroom swinging a first aid kit in his hands.

“I found it!” Mike calls out as he clambers on to the stool beside the counter and starts opening the kit. The woman looks up at him and smiles, untroubled by the significant blood loss as she reaches out and ruffles Mike’s hair.

“Thank you, Bluebird,” she says. Her voice sounds like she’s smiling even though Barry cannot see. The nickname coming from someone other than Len, and so naturally as well, falls over Barry like cold water. He can’t quite move and then he feels a rough bump against his shoulder as Mick makes his way past him into the apartment.

“Blondie!” He calls out, “When did you get back?”

And then, before the woman can answer, Len is there. He’s holding a pair of jeans and a shirt that are folded up but likely aren’t his and a towel and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and he’s the only one who sees Barry.

“Scarlet,” he says, bringing the whole commotion of the room to a stop. The woman on the countertop finally turns around and Barry didn’t need to see her to know but there it is. There she is, the woman in the picture. The one that Barry had spent so much time thinking about, the one he thought gone or lost or dead; she was sitting right there among her family.

“Look Barry!” Mike says with a grin from his perch on the stool, “Mamma’s home!”

Suddenly the reality of how deeply he’s fantasized himself into this family hits him head on. He’s been foolish and invasive, even if only in his thoughts. He remembers Sunday school, ridiculously, quite clearly in this moment. Remembers that coveting is a sin and that thoughts alone could be sinful too. He’s not a particularly devout person, but he finds himself speechless and overcome with guilt. There is no place for him here, it is the nature of his job to be a spare and a replacement and he thinks that he is happy with it all but then – he’s come to think of Len and Mike as more than a job. He knows, has always know, that that was wrong. He just hadn’t been strong enough to will himself away from them. Something about the perfect match of those three sets of blue eyes staring back at him gives him the push he needs.  

“Excuse me,” he manages to say. He hopes it was loud enough to hear but not loud enough to sound desperate as he turns on his heel and down the hallway. It’s so familiar, so similar to the way the first day with this family had gone. Only this time Mike hadn’t quietly opened up the door and prepared him for a shock. This time even if Len came chasing after him…

“Scarlet? Come on Scarlet, it’s only a little blood!”

This time he pushes the elevator call button with more insistence and the button to close the doors after him with near violence. He can hear Len’s voice still calling down the hallway as the doors clasp closed and he falls like a puppet with cut strings the second they do. He distracts himself with practicalities the whole way down. With his place sublet he’ll have to crash at Iris and Eddie’s for a while. He’ll sign on with an agency, work with families for short spurs of time. Maybe he’ll finally do something steadier like teaching or coaching and he will never ever let himself get close enough to a family as to wish that they were his as he had so embarrassingly done with Len and Mike.


	6. Chapter 6

“Now there’s no judgement in this question Barry,” Eddie says as he sets down a tray of marbled cookie brownies and swats Barry’s hand away from the still steaming goods, “I’m just trying to make sure I got all the details. You’re working as a live-in babysitter for this guy who is -and correct me if I misquote you here – ‘so hot it makes you dizzy’. Correct?”

“Yes,” Barry mumbles, looking forlornly at the delicious tray in front of him.

“Your boss is happy with you and the kid is a delight,” Eddie continues, to which Barry nods, biting his tongue to keep from starting on a rant about how Mike is so much more than delightful. He’s brilliant and joyful and everything good in the world.

“And today when you walked in and found the kid’s mom there. Did you introduce yourself?”

“No.”

“Did you say good afternoon?”

“No.”

 “Did you run away like a bat out of hell?”

“I didn’t run,” Barry protests weakly, “I’m always telling Mike not to run in the hall what kind of example would I set.”

“Barry.”

“What.”

“I think you need to go back there right now and try to convince them that your temporary insanity isn’t going to affect your ability to watch their child.”

Barry looked down at the polished wood table and tried not frown.

“I don’t think I should.”

“Barry, the kid didn’t grow a mother overnight, you weren’t hired because they misplaced her.”

“What if I was? What if she’s been gone and now she’s back. Mike looked so happy,” Barry says, smiling ruefully at the memory. Mike did seem so happy to have her home; his smile was so bright.

“You still need to go back,” Eddie tells him, patting Barry’s hands on the table, “even if it is to tell them that you can’t work with them anymore.”

“Why would I say that?”

“Barry, I think you might be getting too attached to this kid and his dad. You’re basically having a jealous fit right now.”

“I… no I’m… I don’t want to leave them Eddie,” he finally sighs.

“Well, if you do stay – if mom isn’t back and demanding her territory just the way you’re so afraid of – I think you should readjust your boundaries.”

“I’m perfectly professional- “

“You binge watched Star Trek with them.”

“That was for Mike’s education!”

“Barry,” he says gently, “they’re a family, but they’re not your family.”

“I know. I know that. And I know that you’re right. I…,” Barry swallows the growing lump in his throat, “I think I need to speak to Len.”

“Barr, your job entails putting your heart into caring for a little person who depends on you. I get why it’s hard to keep it all professional in your mind. I just don’t want your heart to get broken in the process.”

“I guess I’ll go home and – I mean I guess I’ll go back to work and be an adult about things,” Barry says.

“If you need a break from being an adult about things by yourself, remember that you do have a family that is all yours and that we love you.

Barry maneuvers around the table and gives Eddie a long hug before he turns to leave.

“Wait! Take some of these with you,” he says as he runs behind the sales counter and pulls out a clear wrapped plate of cookies, “if you panic, just say you forgot these and that’s why you ran out.”

“You’re a life saver, Eddie,” Barry grins, taking the plate and hurrying out the door and back to the apartment.

-

“He’s got a pretty weak stomach,” Sara murmurs, “what if Mike gets hurt is he gonna faint?”

“How’s pipsqueak gonna get hurt if all he does with ‘im is go to museums and crap,” Mick grunts back.

“That’s not true, Uncle Mick,” Mike says as he brings another bandage towards his mom, “Barry takes me to the park all the time.”

“Will you stop pacing?” Sara says as she looks up at Len over by the bedroom door, “I’m sure he just freaked out a little and he’ll come back in a bit.”

“I’m not pacing,” Len asserts, even as he turns on his heel to make the same trail from the bedroom door to the kitchen and back, “I’m just waiting for you to get patched up and explain why you couldn’t do that before you bled all over my granite. If you made a mess of the elevator.”

“I took the stairs,” Sara says, “I’ll have it taken care of.”

“Why the hell would you take the stairs,” he tuts, marching over to her and disrupting his pattern. He looks at the binding work and pats Mike on the shoulder, “good job Bluebird.”

“Going to a clinic in Central would let people know I’m in Central, I thought we were avoiding that whenever possible,” Sara explains.

“Yeah but bleeding a trail into my apartment, that’s not going to bring any problems,” Len huffs before finally letting his shoulders relax, “are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” she says with a shrug “you on the other hand should have that stick up your ass checked.”

“Sara,” Len warns while Mick chuckles and Mike giggles.

“I’m serious,” she continues, undeterred and winking, “it’s bad for business.”

“Sara!”

Just then the doorbell rings and all four of them turn to the door expectantly.

  
“See?”

Len glares at Sara just once more before heading for the door. It’s not Barry though, at least not right away. Lisa jumps into Len’s arms, immediately caught, laughing with a joy he hasn’t seen in years.

“Surprise! Oh, and look who I found downstairs,” she says as she drags Barry forward by the collar. Barry isn’t meeting either of their eyes, but he’s got a plate of something wrapped in cellophane clenched in his hands like it’ll kill him if it’s taken away.

“Lisa,” Len says, his eyes still on Barry, “you didn’t say you were coming.”

“I didn’t,” she agrees, “but a little birdy told me Sara was in town and I thought I’d take a few days off and we could have a family reunion. Are you going to let me in?”

Len steps aside and decides it’s more economical to glare at the entire room at this point, “So much for your discretion, Sara.”

“Take it up with Laurel,” she says, waving him off and getting up on her good leg to wrap Lisa in a hug.

Len turns back to the door where Barry is still standing, plate clutched so tight that he fears it might snap and his eyes firmly on the ground.

“Barry? Aren’t you going to come in?”

“Sorry about before,” Sara calls out, “I’m not used to anyone being blood-shy.”

“Barry,” Len prompts again, more gently as if he were speaking to a frightened animal.

“I’m sorry,” Barry whispers before he looks up and startles the air out of Len’s lungs. His eyes are huge, bigger than he’s ever seen them before, and he looks lost, “I forgot these.”

He thrusts out the plate of what Len can identify as cookies and waits for Len to take it out of his hands before he folds them behind his back.

“I didn’t realize the family was getting together though,” he continues, his voice bizarrely soft and somber, “I can head home.”

“You are home,” Len says out of instinct and then immediately wants to punch himself in the face.

“You’ll need the spare room,” Barry notes, looking over his shoulder. He’s not looking over at Sara, though, but at Lisa.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Len manages to say after he regains his sense, “come inside, Barry.”

Somewhere behind him he hears the unintelligible rumble of Mick’s voice and Lisa’s startled laughter.

The man still looks shy and out of sorts, and Len knows that they’re overwhelming when gathered but he thought that if Barry could get past the sex work and the everything else that is weird with him he could get past his brash disorganized family as well.

“Barry this is Sara,” Len tries, “Mike’s mother.”

Barry’s face does something extraordinary and horrible then, Len can see it happen. It masks over. Len would recognize it anywhere, it’s the same thing he himself does when working with a client is becoming intolerable but there’s still time on the clock for the night.

“Hi,” he says with a polite smile, “I’m Barry. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Snart.”

Sara snorts, Lisa echoing behind her.

“Oh Barry, have you not given up on that yet? He called me Mrs. Snart the first time we met as well,” she comments loudly right in Sara’s ear.

“Just Sara’s fine, Barry,” she says as she limps over and shakes his hand, “Mike tells me you’re a fun one.”

Her scrunched eyebrows do nothing to hide how little she trusts Mike’s judgement at the moment.

An awkward silence falls over and Len doesn’t know what to do or say, his apartment feels too small all of a sudden, maybe he should take up Smoak on that townhouse she was trying to sell him on.

“Okay how about we get out of here and get somethin’ to eat,” Mick says, loud and decisive and already picking up Mike and sitting him on his shoulders.

Len can see the tension in Barry’s shoulders increase, he’s uncomfortable in a way that in all situations means stop.

“Why don’t you all go ahead and find a place,” Len says, eyes still on Barry who has wandered over to the kitchen and has started to pick up the mess with gloved hands, “I’m going to help Barry clean up here.”

Before Barry can protest or anyone else can say a word, Mick is not so subtly shoving everyone out of the apartment and out into the hall. When the door clicks shut he expects Barry to instantly relax. He does not.

“Wanna tell me what’s the matter?”

“I can’t work for you anymore,” he blurts out. Len feels like he’s had an iced shower he didn’t ask for.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he says just as quickly, “of course I’ll… I’ll wait for and train any replacement you find. It’s not… it doesn’t need to be immediate. But I can’t, I can’t work for you anymore.”

He sounds wounded, as if someone had physically stabbed him and he had staggered up here regardless, clutching a plate of cookies.

“Is there a problem with how much you’re being paid?”

“No,” Barry says, maybe a bit more sharply than Len expected.

“If you need to take less hours we can-“

“I can’t,” Barry says slowly and then stops, as if he truly can’t voice what he’s thinking.

Len wants an explanation even though he knows that he isn’t owed one.

Barry is … he’s an employee and he’s free to leave Len’s employ whenever he wants. But Barry is also… Barry is also the man who sings sweetly to Mike when the nightmares have their clutches on him, the one who thinks he’s subtle keeping tally whenever Len yawns, the one who falls asleep with the lightness of any parent, ready to be at Mike’s side at the barest hint of distress. Barry is the one who smiles at him every morning, the one who always tells Len that sometimes someone needs to take care of him.

“Has someone found out about my work and made it a problem for you? Barry, you would tell me if that were it, wouldn’t you?”

“It isn’t your job,” Barry says, as if the thought were ridiculous, “it isn’t the money and it isn’t the hours.”

“Then what,” Len asks, losing his patience and coming closer to Barry than he probably should, “is it us? Tell me what it is about us that could make you just-“

“Please don’t ask me that,” Barry whispers, begging, “please this is hard enough.”

It’s only then that Len realizes how close he’s standing, how demanding he’s been with Barry who is only doing what anyone in his position would. Len tries to think back on the weeks and months they’ve spent together, tries to account for every move and every action that could have crossed this and other lines. From the moment Len met him he trusted Barry, he hadn’t even realized that he had folded the younger man into his life so tightly. Of course, he wanted to leave, of course he couldn’t stand it anymore. Len had pushed Barry to the edge and now Mike would pay for it. Mike.

He takes three steps back and Barry seems to exhale at last.

“Barry, I – I’m sorry. I have no right.”

“It’s okay-“

“It’s not. I understand.”

“You do?”

“Of course. You don’t need to come back again, I will take care of it. And give you the severance you deserve.”

Barry makes a sound like perhaps he was hit by a car and leans against the kitchen counter like his strings have been cut.

Len frowns. He’d expected Barry to be relieved, to be happy to be rid of him. “Is that not what you want?”

“Is she back to stay?”

Len reels at the question.

“Sara?”

“I’m so sorry,” Barry says, his eyes immediately dropping to the floor again, “it’s not my place to ask.”

“Barry … is this… is this about Sara?”

Barry doesn’t answer that, doesn’t even attempt it. Len thinks his head is spinning in a full circle by now.

“Barry… why does Sara make you want to leave us?”

“Because,” he says after a seemingly interminable pause, “because I am paid to care. To care for Mike, to care for the apartment to… I am paid to care. But I… I mean I do I care very deeply for you both. Seeing Mike’s mom, I understood… I’ve – I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t making any sense, Scarlet,” Len says, taking a step forward again and then another.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, as if those are the only words that will cooperate.

Len hazards another step, prying Barry’s hands away from the kitchen counter and watching them tremble as he holds them, “What are you sorry for?”

Almost every day of his life, Len is kissed in some way. Many nights he is kissed coyly and others yet he’s kissed shyly. Some nights he is kissed perfunctorily and some nights bruisingly, possessively, seductively, punishingly, jokingly.

Len can’t remember the last time that he was kissed lovingly. Honestly. Desperately. He doesn’t know how to respond, even though it’s his goddamn job. By the time his brain catches up enough to even attempt to kiss back Barry’s lips – soft and gentle and hopeful and mournful – are gone. Barry’s beautiful face is stricken and mortified and almost like lightning he is gone. Even faster than this morning, he disappears down the hall, door left ajar right behind him. Len runs instead of shouting, skidding to a stop at the turn of the elevators only to find him gone as if Len had only dreamt him up all along.


	7. Chapter 7

“Evening, Ronald,” he nods.

 “Mr. Wynters,” Ronald greets, keeping up charades even at the door of the Dane Estate, “Miss Dane extends her apologies but she is not feeling up to the outing. We would have called you but she…took a turn only a few minutes ago.”

“Have you called for help?”

“Miss Dane is only exhausted after her treatments this afternoon, she is perfectly safe,” the man says gently as he moves to give Len an envelope.

Len swats it away and looks toward the stairs, “I’d like to see her.”

Ronald nods once, “I will see if she feels well enough for visitors.”

Len waits anxiously at the bottom of the stairs, until he can see the other man nod at him from the first landing. He has been here before, of course, but the intent is different now and his only motivation is concern for this woman who has undeniably become his friend after all of these years.

She looks small, smaller than usual, and her usually elegant hands look brittle on her lap.

“It is nothing so dramatic, dear Leonard,” she says once she takes a look at him. She is wearing a silk dressing gown and looks as tired as had been suggested, “a tempting proposition darling, but I really...”

“If you don’t want any company, I’ll go,” he says quickly, “but my night Is yours.”

She looks over Len’s shoulder and blinks slowly, “Thank you Ronald.”

The man disappears from beside Len and she pats the space beside her on the bed.

“You really do go the extra mile for your clients, Leonard,” she says softly, “you don’t have to do this.”

“For a client? Of course not. But for a friend, I should have already been here.”

“Leonard, they really are missing you in Hollywood,” she says in a chuckle, “but I know full well that I made my bed alone and I will die in it just the same.”

“Hannah,” he says, stripping off his blazer and clambering up beside her, letting his more polished accent and demeanor give way, “my bodyguard is my brother, my private investigator is my son’s aunt, my lawyer is an ex-client, my cousin is my kid’s piano teacher. Sometimes, you can care about people and trust them and pay them for their services or be paid by them. Sometimes things can get blurred, and it’s important to talk about it, but it doesn’t mean it can’t happen. You pay me, we go to functions that bore you and we make them better, we have sex. All of that is true. But you’re also my friend. And I hope that I can be yours.”

She looks at him for a long time before she even opens her mouth to answer and then after that she waits some more.

“You have a son?” is what she finally says.

Len smiles, “I do. He’s seven and he’s a freaking whip.”

“Let’s do without our little agreement tonight,” she says, “let’s talk about ugly things like how exhausted I am and let me pry into that life of yours.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Some water.”

Len reaches for a glass from the bed side table and grimaces when he hears the hiss of pain coming from Hannah.

He hands her the glass and brushes a stray hair from her face, “Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”

“I just came from them, Leonard,” she sighs, “they are trying their best. Tell me about your life, it is so much more interesting than my death.”

He wants to argue, but instead he shakes his head and tells her a story.

“I’ve been in some kind of sex work my whole life. When I was young and vulnerable I walked the streets like everyone else. Eventually I learned what I liked and what I didn’t, what I was willing to put up with. And I had the opportunity so many others don’t, to set my rules and stick to them. Started making a real business out of it.”

He takes a breath, remembering that time in his life when he’d just started to feel proud of himself, like he was making something worthwhile for himself and Lisa and Mick.

“Sometimes I just needed to relax, have sex for fun. Sara has the kind of life that demands an arrangement and can’t handle a relationship and that suited me, at least at the time. When she told me that she was pregnant, she immediately told me she was having him and that she’d talk to her sister about raising him since she herself had no urge to be a mother. I didn’t think, I just begged her to let me have him. I swore I don’t know how many things if she’d just let me; things that I did, like quit smoking, things that I had no business promising like being a good father.”

“She agreed,” Hannah surmises.

“She did. Went back to saving animals and getting shot at and half eaten in the process. She drops by every few months to visit. Mike loves it when she visits, storms in like a hurricane,” knowing that his tone gives away his preoccupation.

“What happened?”

Len frowns but only lightly. Hannah has always been terribly perceptive.

“My son’s babysitter he… well in all honesty it probably doesn’t have anything to do with Sara. I think I blurred the lines too much, didn’t make things clear, scared him away. I’d never… it’d been so many years since I even entertained the thought.”

Hannah curls a finger under his chin and lifts it up, just as he has done to her so many times, “Leonard.”

He looks into her eyes and allows himself a vulnerability he’d never expect to have in this room.

“He kissed me, I liked it. He bolted,” he adds quickly, “I haven’t seen him since.”

“Leonard,” she says again, tutting, “I never took you for such an idiot.”

“You think I should go speak with him,” he guesses.

“Darling Leonard,” she laughs, “you should already be there.”   

“Nonsense, tonight is yours.”

“You’ve given me a better night than that stuffy exhibit could have hoped to be, save for our own activities,” she says with a cheeky grin, “for which I will take a rain check.”

“Hannah I don’t think-“

“Leonard darling, I am staring death in the face. Someday soon, I’ll find myself in a far less comfortable room with the claws of science covering me in tubes and trying to keep me here. I will be alone, without so much as the memory of a love to keep me warm. You are faring far better, you have a family. But reach out towards love when it reaches out towards you. So that when your day comes there are more than expensive bouquets and baskets surrounding you.”

Len leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead before he stands and slips his shoes back on.

-

“And don’t you feel silly now,” the woman finishes, not at all inaccurately. Barry sits feeling silly, pathetic, and thoroughly chagrinned across from Sara.

“I – I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. Look, I spend my days face to face with cruelty and I wanted a little bit of hope and goodness in my life, but I can’t be a mom. It’s not for me. Len was desperate to be a dad as soon as the offer was on the table, and he’s been an amazing one. Even if he has a questionable choice in babysitters.”

“I’m really sorry, I swear, Mike is my priority and I would never-“

“Relax, I’ve been told you’re ‘the bestest at science and sing so pretty’ by a reliable source,” she says, and she looks unworried and wistful and tired and too old in the eyes.

There is a click at the door and Barry expects it to be Iris or Eddie, checking in on them, being gracious about Barry intruding into their home along with all of this mess. Sara leans back in her chair looking like a pleased cat and Barry looks over his shoulder to see Len standing there.

“I… you work tonight,” Barry manages to choke out.

“Change of plans,” is all the other man says, “I was wondering if we could have a word, in private.”

“So subtle and demure,” Sara says with an eyeroll, “I’ll head back to the apartment, Mick might have started marathoning Friday the 13th with Mike by now.”

She slings her white jacket over one shoulder and squeezes Barry’s shoulder before she goes, leaving the two of them alone in Iris and Eddie’s kitchen.

“Scarlet.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Stop saying that.”

“But I am.”

“You’re sorry that you kissed me?”

“I don’t want to leave you both, but I know I have to, especially now.”

Len stands stoic and silent in front of him and Barry decides that it’s time. Time to actually step up and speak his mind and his heart. If he’s going to lose this, lose them, there’s no reason to hold anything back.

“I love Mike, I know it’s my job to protect and care for him, but it isn’t my job to love every little thing about him and to wish that I could always be a part of his life. Your life. Because… because loving the kid I’m caring for can be cute and admirable but falling in love with his dad is unacceptable. Unprofessional. And I know it means I have to stop being Mike’s babysitter, and it … it kills me. I don’t want to go. But I understand the position I’ve put you in. Even if you could look past this it isn’t… it isn’t right.”

“Scarlet,” he says, like he’s out of breath even though he hasn’t said much, “I’m a prostitute.”

“You’re an escort,” Barry says, frowning at Len’s tone.

“I’m a sex worker,” he says, as if he’s explaining a new concept, “people pay me to have sex.”

“Yes, I know that,” he says, shaking his head a little, “what does that have to do with your crazy babysitter falling in love with you?”

“I enjoy my job, I don’t do it out of any tragic motivation,” he says slowly, “I don’t intend to retire for a couple of years yet.”

Barry wanted to tug at his hair, but not wanting to look like more of a maniac he chose to pace around Eddie’s kitchen instead, “Are we even having the same conversation?”

“Do you not care about any of that?”

Barry stopped in his tracks, looking toward Len as if he had grown a second head, “Why would I care about your job?”

“Oh Barry,” he says, half amused and half awed as he comes closer, “you’ve really got no problem with it?”

“I don’t even understand that question,” Barry nearly whines, “and I don’t understand how you aren’t upset with me.”

“And why would it upset me to be loved?”

Barry hadn’t realized how close Len had gotten until the man’s hand was on his cheek and Barry’s heart stopped for several moments. He felt his throat tighten and his heart pick up again with a vengeance, thudding against his chest.

“And by someone who adores my son, who has driven himself into a frenzy at the thought of losing us, who doesn’t mind that I choose to use my body for work? Why would upset me, to be loved that way?”

“I…”

“Breathe, Barry,” the man whispers, so close to him that Barry can feel their breath mingling, “you’re turning scarlet.”

“What…what are you doing, Len?” Barry asks, even though Len is telegraphing his movements and he’s very evidently leaning closer and closer to Barry’s lips.

“I’m reaching back out,” Len mumbles, lips nearly touching, “meet me half way.”

Barry does. He doesn’t think about how impossible this is, about how he must be dead or dreaming. Alright, maybe he thinks about it a little bit, thinks about how heaven is so much more interesting than promised, and about how long this dream will last. But it’s only for a moment, before he leans in the rest of the way and kisses Len again. There’s still desperation in the act, at least from his part, but Len is there to meet him in it – expectant and not surprised. He kisses like he talks, firm and gentle all at once, commanding but seductive. Barry can feel himself melting, falling farther and farther –

“Barry?”

His heart stops again and he clenches his eyes shut because he doesn’t want to look, he doesn’t want to see. But Len is already pulling away and Barry has to open his eyes and look up, mortified, and the situation in front of him. His dad, Joe, Celeste, Iris, Eddie, and everyone except perhaps Wally – oh no there he is – standing there, on the doorway, staring.


End file.
